


Jewel of the Sea

by bananamelon



Category: Mamma Mia! (2008), Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Drama, Falling In Love, Family Issues, Fluff, Healing, Idiots in Love, M/M, Romance, Self-Discovery, i dont wanna give away too much, just two dorks in love ya feel me, mamma mia fans unite
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-01
Updated: 2018-08-09
Packaged: 2019-06-20 01:02:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15522627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bananamelon/pseuds/bananamelon
Summary: If there’s anything Keith Kogane has learned from his mother, it’s to be independent.In which Keith moves to Greece, completely on impulse, as an act of freeing himself. In search for his "true calling," he instead discovers belonging, a persistent somebody who doesn't know when to give up, and emotions he never learned how to embrace during his childhood. No matter how far Keith goes to outrun his old life, the past moves quickly and is soon catching up.





	1. Aquamarine Gems

If there’s anything Keith Kogane has learned from his mother, it’s to be independent. To be quick and always face danger head-on. To rely on himself, primarily, before asking for help. Keith, finally 18, afters years submerged in the waters of tough love, snug under his mother’s attentive wing, decides to make a much-needed transformative decision to break from his routine. It has to be spontaneous; has to taste like liberation. Most importantly, it has to be well thought-out, unlike Keith’s other, less though-out decisions he sometimes makes, that usually end up winding him up in some sort of trouble.

So, Keith moves to Greece.

Admittedly, it _is_ a tad bit extreme. In Keith’s defense, he stayed up all night to the wee hours of the morning planning, from transportation and lodging to the nitty gritty of his new residence. Foggy hours pass like minutes as he researched in thorough, thoughtfully skimming through identical tourism websites. And with no prior knowledge on anything related to traveling, let alone on his own, Keith would say he’d done a pretty good job.

Alright. His decision was made on sheer impulse. The idea came to him in an indescribable emotion, like a bolt of lightning had come down and struck him right in the brain, rewiring him with newfound motivation. Keith hungered his own sovereignty, and he found it in Skopelos, Greece.

Had he been in his right mind that night, Keith would have brushed off his desire as a mere fascination to see the world, but it’s much too late for second thoughts now.

Keith is standing on a boat dock in Volos city, dropped off taxi. All his luggage made it alright, and the dock security has approved his passport. The only thing standing in his way is the fact that his flight had been delayed about an hour, meaning the ferry he planned to catch was already long gone, and wouldn’t be returning for a while. So there Keith is, standing in the middle of a dry dock in a foreign country, completely clueless and without a backup plan. He stares out into the lapis lazuli water and reminds himself not to get discouraged. There is always a solution to every situation, even if that solution might be a bit brash.

“Excuse me!” A voice shouts, snapping Keith out of a trance. His head swivels in the direction of the call—up there, a boy hanging onto the mast of the boat docked at Keith’s side. He’s sunkissed and bright-eyed, wearing an unbuttoned shirt and swim shorts.

“You’re kind of, er, standing in my jib,” the boy explains. It takes a while for his words to reach Keith’s ears. He doesn’t realize he’s staring until he looks away, attention darting to his feet. He’s apparently got one foot in a coil of rope. Embarrassed, he quickly jumps away like it’s a ticking bomb.

Keith mechanically bows in apology. “Sorry,” he mutters, more to appease himself than the person who he’s inconvenienced. There are a million things on his mind. Taking a few more steps out of the way for good measure, Keith shields his eyes from the sun with a hand, the other propped on his hip, as he scans the buildings for a Plan B. There’s what looks like a visitor information center and a few edifices that could be hotels, all in walking distance. He contemplates his next move.

“Excuse me,” a voice calls out to him, much quieter this time. Keith looks to see the boy, now on the ground, coil of rope hanging from his arm. “Are you in a hurry to get somewhere?”

Keith’s brain fizzes for a moment and he’s unsure if the guy’s really talking to him and not someone behind him, but seeing as the lock eyes for longer than a few seconds, Keith struggles for a reply. How much information is too much information? How trustworthy are the fishermen here, especially the young, scrawny-looking ones?

“Uh, y-yeah,” he nods. “Kind of. I missed my ferry and I don’t exactly have another option up my sleeve, so…”

“Where ya headed?” The boy inquires without hesitation, tossing the rope on board as he makes his way closer to Keith. At first glance, he doesn’t seem harmful, Keith observes. Just a little burnt and crude. Taking a better look, however, he notices the sun freckles that pepper the boy’s cheeks and the aquamarine gems he has for eyes. He’s unlike anyone he’s ever known.

“Skopelos Island,” Keith replies without thinking. The boy whistles, a sway in his step.

“Well, _cariño,_ you’re in luck, because a certain handsome young man happens to be taking his boat in that exact direction. He _also_ happens to be accepting passengers with the price of a simple, romantic lunch date on the waves.” He circles Keith once, walking in an almost mockingly slow pace, his mischievous eyes catching Keith’s gaze like fish on a hook.

“Oh?” Keith cocks a brow and crosses his arms. “Would you care to point me to him? I can’t seem to find this _handsome young man_ you speak of from where I’m standing.” He swerves his head to and fro, eyes squinting as he scans the dock.

A sigh leaves the boy’s lungs as he clutches his bare chest with both hands, expression becoming pained. “Your words wound me, _mi amado.”_ Cracking open one eye, he can’t help but grin, and extends a hand to Keith, who accepts it, expecting a handshake.

“Name’s Lance,” the cheeky boy lifts Keith’s hand, planting a gentle kiss on the back of his palm that takes him by surprise. “And this is my boat, _Joya Del Mar._ And you are?”

Keith can’t bring himself to find a suitable reaction for the unfolding events. He reminds himself to let go—that the entire point of coming here is the let go—and clears his throat to make room for the words he can’t find. His cheeks are stained red, but he hopes his stern tone of voice conceals that.

“Keith,” he curtly replies. “Well, Lance, does your boat depart on short notice?”

“It does, indeed.”

“And if I heard correctly, _oh handsome young man,”_ Keith finds himself smiling, allowing himself to play along. “You’re taking passengers to Skopelos Island?”

“That, I am.”

Unable to help his suspicious, Keith eyes Lance head to toe, then back up again, a skeptical look on his face. His eyes drift to the boat, which is painted a sea foam green and seems to be in good condition. There is always a solution to every situation, even if that solution might be a bit brash. There’s nothing wrong with a bit of spontaneity. Lance extends his hand to Keith once more, and he takes it.

“What your catch?” Keith asks.

“The catch is the romantic lunch date, of course! All I ask is your company over a meal, that’s all,” Lance answers, his impish face softening into genuity. Keith contemplates his decision—contemplates Lance—but truthfully, he already knows his answer.

“Deal.”

Lance exhales a heavy sigh as if he’s been holding his breath the whole time, an overwhelming expression of joy seeming to light up like the sun itself. He steps onto the boat, carefully leading Keith on after him. “Welcome aboard _Joya,_ Keith. We’re both happy to have you.”


	2. My Stray Cat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance is successful in his courtship.

Once Keith climbs aboard _Joya Del Mar,_ Lance works swiftly to get her on the waves. He takes a moment to consider the wind, and after a contented noise, goes to untie the springlines and pull in the fenders. _Joya_ begins to drift away from the dock, and after a safe distance is created, Lance turns on the motor and swerves out of the harbor. His movements are fluent like water itself, nimble and experienced, proving himself to be a seasoned boatman.

“So, Keith,” Lance starts, seating himself on the edge of the console oddly close to the other. “You’re obviously not from here, _cariño,_ so what brings you all the way out to Volos? Y’know, what’s your story; your narrative?”

Keith mulls over the questions for a bit, struggling to answer. “I don’t know why I came,” he says, voice barely reaching over the sound of the waves. “And I don’t have a story.”

“Nonsense!” Lance is quick to exclaim. “You must have _some_ reason to venture, right? A goal you have in mind?” He’s patient with Keith, leans an elbow on his knee to get a better look at his passenger’s face. He’s breathtaking, Lance observes, unlike his local friends he converses with day to day. Keith, dressed in an latern sleeve blouse tucked into black pants, stood out like a Victorian painting at first glance.

Glancing up to meet Lance’s insistent gaze, Keith sighs as he decides to answer with whatever can make it out of his mouth first. Anxieties, hopes, and everything in between that’s rooted in his gut.

“I’m searching for liberty,” Keith starts. “For an ambition, I guess. Every waking day of my life has always been rountine, but there’s got to be more than that, right? A-And I think there’s something out there, just waiting for me to discover it. I can feel it.”

Lance finds himself smiling fondly, his eyes gently settling on the bridge of Keith’s nose; his long eyelashes and slightly chapped lips. The gradual rise of his chest when he’s got something to say. Keith notices the eyes boring into his face, accidentally meeting Lance’s gaze, and quickly averts his attention back to the sea, flustered.

“I-It’s reckless, I know, but—”

“Searching for liberty,” Lance repeats, the words rolling off his tongue like honey, resonating inside him. He nods as if he understands perfectly. “So you’re a stray cat, then? A runaway in search of the many treasures this world has to offer?”

Keith swallows air in his throat. “O-Or at least one of them, I guess, yeah.”

Lance grins wider and jumps to his feet, extending a hand to Keith. Clueless but compliant, Keith allows himself to be directed around the deck to the narrow staircase that leads into the console, following Lance’s step. There are two benches on either wall, both piled with miscellanous items, some related to the boat and some not. Directly in front of the stairs is a three-wall room, completely occupied by a square bed, decorated with tapestries and assorted pillows.

“So, Keith, my stray cat,” Lance starts, stills holding onto Keith’s hand. “You’re story starts now, then, hm? I’m glad I get to be apart of your beginning.” In a sequence that unfolds too suddenly for Keith to wrap his head around, Lance pulls Keith into him, two strong arms wrapping around his waist. When he leans in for what looks like a kiss, Keith presses a firm finger on the boy’s lips.

“You said the price was just lunch!” He exclaims, still stunned.

“Well, yes,” Lance smiles. “Consider this to be dessert?”

“I am not _food,”_ Keith huffs, eyes narrowed, a hand pressed on Lance’s chest to keep them at least a small distance apart. “And I don’t do, y’know, _that_ with just anybody. I’m not that kind of person, Lance.”

“I-I’m not either!” Lance blurts, his suave facade cracking in his attempts to persuade his lovely passenger. “I don’t ! I-In fact, I barely let anyone board _Joya_ —Hell, you just might be the first!” He stammers through the syllables, babbling as if his tongue is too fat to wrap itself around his words. There’s a frantic look in his sapphire eyes, evoking the tiniest smirk from Keith.

Lance sighs, dejected, and drops his head onto Keith’s shoulder, his hands leaving the other’s waist to timidly lace their fingers together. “You’re so, so beautiful,” he whispers, the words exhaled straight from his heart.

“The moment I saw you, I knew I had to think of an opportunity to meet you. I’ve never, ever, ever felt like this.” Lance lifts his head slowly to meet Keith’s gaze. Their eyes speak their own intricate language, emotions surfacing in a kaleidoscope of colors.

Keith reminds himself where he is and what he’s doing here—to start over. To pursue adventure and spontaneity, and if he’s not wrong, he’s holding hands with a perfect adventure right now. Keith lets the silence drag on, simply for the effect of suspense, examining Lance and his eager puppy-dog expression.

“Treat me gently,” Keith finally replies, his hands draping around Lance’s neck. Lance, filled with an emotion that makes him feel like he’s flying, exhales a shaky breath.

“Of course, of course,” he mumbles, leading Keith over to the bed. They both fall onto the soft mattress, entangled in each other, tame and sweet-tempered. Lance climbs on top of the other, brushing back Keith’s face to reveal the entirety of his face, his eyes flickering upon every feature to absorb it into his memory. The sound of the ocean through the walls is white noise now. It’s just Lance and Keith and their heartbeats and their cautious tenderness, only indulged in each other, and nothing else matters.


	3. A Blanket of Diamonds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith arrives at Skopelos Island and feels like he's missing something.

Lance is surprisingly gentle with Keith, like he promised. As fervid as he was, the boatman was full of only patience and warmth, making sure his _amor_ was as comfortable as possible. He’s a romantic man, really, and it wouldn’t surprise Keith if he learned this sailor is a playboy. Even so, Keith couldn’t deny just how _passionate_ he is—the kisses, the warm touches, everything. Of course, something so flagrant could never be addressed aloud.

The two stayed in be for the remainder of the evening. Keith, who initially planned to sleep on one of the benches once he cleared it off, was acutely discouraged after the rocking of the boat introduced itself in the form of Keith’s weight toppling over onto the floor. After that, he didn’t put up much of a fight when Lance insisted they both sleep in the same bed. It was quiet after that, remarkably, and much to Keith’s appeal. Only the sound of wood creaking against the pressure of the roving ocean.

The morning after is serene. Lance wakes first, sunlight permeating through the plank door, which he had left open—luckily, it hadn’t rained overnight. As he begins to stir, a heavy weight keeps Lance pinned to the mattress. It’s a mop of black hair sprawled across his chest; a cheek pressed against his ribcage and a notable puddle of drool seeping from parted lips. Lance, attempting to shift into a more comfortable position as smoothly as possible, fails when he feels Keith rouse against him. As dark eyes blink open to meet his own, Lance takes the opportunity to wipe the dazed Keith’s face with a discarded shirt, as well as his own wet chest.

“Sleep some more,” Lance hums, fondly examining the boy on top of him, slumber still clouding his own senses. He repositions himself into an almost-upright posture, cracking his neck side to side. Keith moves off of Lance with a sloth-like pace, settling against the wall as his senses gradually come back to him.

He murmurs things under his breath, wiping his eyes with his knuckle. “What time is it?” Keith asks, voice thick and hoarse. His eyes scan his near surroundings first—pillows, floorboards, a pile of his crumpled clothes—before the meet Lance. His gaze, half-lidded, is gentle and hazy, instead of the piercing glare he wore the day before.

Lance reaches a slender arm for his phone near the bedside. “9:36,” he reads before clicking it off again, tossing it onto the bed. There’s no reception, anyway. Not on a large body of water.

Keith begins to move, one foot on the floor and then the other, the summer air still chilling his bare skin. He remembers his luggage is onboard and spots it among the other assorted items in the haul. His muscles are taut so he adjusts to it, feet trodding against polished wood slowly and carefully.

“How long until we reach Skopelos?” Keith asks, scooping up his pile clothes on the floor, moving toward his suitcase and duffle. He stuffs yesterday’s clothes into the bag with more space, and in turn, pulls out a fresh wardrobe, one article at a time until he has an outfit. Naturally, he doesn’t bother to coordinate his attire.

Lance swings he legs off the bed and snatches a pair of relatively clean shorts off the floor—he aired it out and scanned for any noticeable blotches of dirt for good measure. Lance is never usually so disorganized; coming from a large family, his mother was quick to scold him if his room wasn’t clean. However, after becoming a fully-fledged boatman, he allowed himself to cut loose just a bit and developed the habit of letting a manageable mess to accumulate until he set aside a day to cleaning his entire living space.

Lance buttons his shorts and follows after Keith, who is already hauling his bags up the narrow steps and onto the deck. “Well, if the wind picks up,” Lance starts, stepping into open sunlight. His eyes flicker over the horrizon knowingly, extending a confident finger to somewhere in the distance. “I would give it an hour or two?”

Keith sighs and stretches, his spine popping as he does, his torso elongating like a cat. Unkempt clumps of black hair blow out of his face as he turns into a cool breeze. He admires the way the ocean twinkles a beautiful turquoise under the sun, glistening like a blanket of diamonds. It finally sinks in that Keith is far, far away from home. No one at his destination will know him—to them, he is a tourist; an unfamiliar face. The acknowledgement sent a cold feeling in his gut, anxiety mixing with anticipation. He understood that this is more than just running away from home; this is renewal.

“Are you in a hurry?” Lance’s husky voice chimes, startling Keith as his arms snake around the pale waist. He props his chin onto Keith’s shoulder and takes a deep breath.

“N-Not particularly,” Keith responds, unsure of how to cope with intimacy, even after last night’s chain of events. It’s nice, he admits, as intrusive as the feeling is. Hesitantly, he leans into the warmth against his back. “I want to get there as soon as possible, though,” Keith adds, the words sucked out of him with the breeze.

Lance is understanding and shuffles away to unanchor _Joya._ He opens the sail, adjusting ropes here and there, and finally turns on the engine. He steers them in the supposed correct direction and Keith watches from the deck, fixated on the serious side of Lance he wasn’t entirely expecting. There’s a sense of determination in his blue eyes, Keith observes—or it could have been the sun glare.

The wind does eventually pick up, like Lance predicted, and soon they’re zooming across the water with gusto. Keith makes himself comfortable new the bow, where Lance joins him after his sailor duties are done.

“Hey,” Keith starts, surprisingly the first to initiate conversation. “You haven’t told me much about yourself, Lance. You say those, uh, nicknames, was it? In Spanish? This boat, too— _Joya Del Mar_ —is Spanish, too, right? U-Unless I’m wrong.” He trails off, awaiting a response to save him the embarrassment.

The brief Spanish rolls off of Keith’s tongue with an accent, but hearing it alone is enough to send chills down Lance’s spine. He’s grinning now, and Keith frowns at this.

“I’m flattered you asked!” Lance laughs. “I come from Cuba. Been there all my life, just me and my family. I left a few years ago for university, but,” he pauses to motion around him. “Obviously, that changed. My mother still thinks I’m attending classes, though. I wouldn’t know how to break the news to her now.” He chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck with his palm.

“So, in retrospect, what you’re trying to say is, you ran away?” Keith follows up.

“Er, well, no. Not exactly. Or, not in the beginning, at least, but I guess that’s what it looks like now, huh?” Lance laughs again, but it’s just empty vibrations, his lips straining to force a smile. Keith gives him a long stare before deciding to change the topic.

“So, switching between languages every now and then, is it like a tick? Like, does it come naturally? Or is it part of your character?” Keith inquires. He doesn’t mean to sound cocky, but when Lance’s face suddenly flushes, eyes widening, Keith feels like he’s hit a gold mine.

“Ah… Is it not working?” Lance forces a shameful laugh like he’s been caught in an act.

Keith laughs and averts his eyes back to the ocean. This is bonding, he supposes. It’s undeniably awkward for him, though, trying to connect to a practical stranger like this. He continues to listen intently, even to the silence, absorbing every second into his memory. It’s a new feeling for him—for both of them, maybe. Something indescribable. Keith sighs a heavy breath and lets the whipping wind carry it away.

When land comes into sight, it’s all Keith focus on. This is what he’s been waiting for. The boat dock is almost exactly like how the pictures showed it to be. The hills and the white sand and the identical houses—everything he’s been anticipating. Anxiety resettles into Keith’s gut as Lance returns to attending to the main sail.

The dock quietly, Lance doing all the work while Keith watches, becoming conscious of every subtle shift the lapping waves bring. Once docked, Keith snatches his bags and throws them onto the landing. Lance hops up first, offering a helping hand to Keith who doesn’t need it, but still accepts it anyway. Lance doesn’t let go of his hand.

“I’ll come back for you, _cariño,”_ he says, locking eyes with the boy who can only return an unreadable expression.

“I don’t need you to,” Keith retorts, but the words feel like acid in his tongue.

Lance grins as he jumps back onto his boat. “I know, but I’ll come anyway. Just wait for me, okay? I’ll be back, Keith. I promise.”

Keith surprises himself when he expects a goodbye kiss or at least a momento from the sailor to prove that they crossed paths. Alas, it’s just him and his luggage, standing alone on the dock like an idiot. Keith doesn’t take his eyes off the boat until it’s just a seafoam shape in the distance. It’s moving a lot faster than he remembered it to be.

“I’ll be waiting,” he mutters to himself, hoping the wind will carry his words far enough to reach Lance’s ears. The plead embarrasses him so he grabs his bags, one in each hand, and turns on his heel, away from the water.

**Author's Note:**

> i just finished watching mamma mia 2 and how nice would it be for lance and keith to go through something like that, where they learn to love and be young and alive and find their place in the vast and unforgiving world（ ；◇ ；）
> 
> so i gave birth to this. a loosely-based mamma mia klance AU. enjoy!


End file.
